The Weight of Silence

Chapter 5

25. September, 1997
London, England

The kitchen smelled like sugar and vanilla, the scent of freshly baked cookies filling the air as I rolled out dough on the counter. Flour dusted my hands, and I could feel it sticking to my skin as I worked. Sayjan stood beside me, his sleeves rolled up, his focus entirely on measuring out ingredients with a precision that made me laugh.

"You know," I said, glancing over at him, "you look like you're preparing for a chemistry experiment, not baking cookies."

He glanced up, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Baking is an art, Adma. You can't just throw flour around and expect it to work out."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You're that serious about cookies? What's next, a lab coat?"

He grinned, clearly amused.

"If it means perfect cookies, I'll wear whatever it takes."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" He leaned closer, his face almost touching mine as he grabbed a spoon. "I'm just making sure these cookies turn out perfect. You should be thanking me."

I laughed, nudging him with my elbow.

"I'm sure you're the one who's going to eat them all anyway."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "What can I say? I'm a professional."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. "A professional dough-eater, maybe."

"Hey," he said, taking a piece of dough from the counter and offering it to me. "Want some?"

I eyed him skeptically. "Is that even safe? Raw dough?"

"Of course it's safe," he said, grinning mischievously. "And besides, we're making cookies. You have to taste the dough to know if it's good, right?"

I hesitated, then took a small piece. "This better not be a trick."

He watched me closely, his eyes intense for a moment before he broke into a grin.

"You can trust me."

I chewed slowly, the sweetness of the dough melting on my tongue. "Okay, I'll admit it's good."

"Good?" he repeated, leaning in slightly. "It's amazing. I told you I was a pro."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't suppress a smile. "Sure, you are."

He gave me a playful shove. "Don't act like you're not impressed."

I shook my head, trying to focus on rolling the dough again, but I couldn't help but feel the tension between us. It was there, subtle but undeniable—like an invisible thread pulling us closer. Every time he leaned in, every time his eyes met mine, I felt it. And I didn't know what to do with it.

"Hey," I said, trying to shift the mood, "you're not planning to eat all this dough, are you?"

He looked at me, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I might. It's my secret weapon for perfect cookies."

"You're impossible," I said, laughing despite myself. "If you eat all the dough, we'll have nothing left for the actual cookies."

He took another piece of dough, his gaze not leaving mine. "Well, I can't help it if the dough is irresistible."

I shot him a look, trying to hide my smile. "You're shameless."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Shameless and hungry. It's a dangerous combination."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the flutter in my chest. There was something about the way he was looking at me, like he was studying me, waiting for my reaction. It was playful, but there was an edge to it—an unspoken challenge.

The tension between us thickened, but I didn't know how to address it. Instead, I focused on the dough, trying to ignore the way my heart was beating faster than it should. "Alright, let's get these cookies in the oven before you eat all the dough."

He chuckled, but there was something in his laugh that made my stomach twist. "Don't worry, I'll leave some for the actual cookies. Maybe."

I shot him a look, trying to keep things light, but there was a part of me that felt unsettled. It was like we were both walking a fine line, each of us trying to figure out how far we could push without crossing a boundary. I wasn't sure what the line even was, but I could feel it.

I quickly pushed the dough onto the baking sheets, trying to avoid his gaze. I could feel him watching me, his presence almost overwhelming in the small kitchen. The air felt charged, like there was something unspoken hanging between us, just waiting to be addressed.

"How long do you think they'll take?" he asked, his voice suddenly quieter, more serious.

I glanced at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. "Uh, about ten minutes."

He nodded, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment too long before he turned away. "Right."

We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the oven. The tension between us felt heavier now, pressing in on me. I wanted to say something, anything, to break it, but the words felt stuck in my throat.